


The Colors In Your Head

by aliceinchucks



Series: Lights [2]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fluff, Music, Musicians, Romance, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:18:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliceinchucks/pseuds/aliceinchucks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roxas' first crush was in the fourth grade, but the object of his affections mysteriously disappeared halfway through the year. Now he's eighteen and trying to figure out a life for himself after high school. Could the pale face he's been seeing in the window of the Old Folks' Home lead him to discovering what happened all those years ago, and will he take the opportunity to shape what will happen in the years to come?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part 1 of the companion piece to Those Pretty Lights. It is not necessary to have read TPL in order to understand this story, but if you are going to read TPL I would recommend doing so before you read this one. This covers approximately the same timeline as TPL, give or take a bit, but is told from Roxas' perspective. If the fact that this is called 'Part 1' isn't indication enough, yes, this story is turning out to be quite a bit longer than TPL. Hopefully that's a good thing.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or any of its characters. Song lyrics adapted from Andrew Belle's All Those Pretty Lights.
> 
> Enjoy!

Everyone in Miss Lockhart's fourth grade class jumped up from their seat at the sound of the eleven o'clock bell, eager to enjoy their fifteen minutes of recess. I was just slightly behind the rest of my class, penciling in a few more words to the poem I'd been working on before I too was on my way out the door, shoving the scrap of paper into my back pocket.

A timid tap on my shoulder startled me. I turned my head to find that I wasn't the last one out of the room after all. A girl stood there, her blonde hair falling over her right shoulder as she held out a familiar scrap of paper. I blinked, staring dumbly at her big, blue-grey eyes that looked almost lavender with the shirt she was wearing. The girl's name was Naminé, but she went by Nami, a fact I'd known since the second grade when we'd first been in the same class. Since then I had been aware of this girl with an acuteness that I had never experienced around anyone before.

"You dropped this," she said in her soft voice, which I had heard many times, but this was the first time it had ever been addressed to me. My hand automatically went to my back pocket, which was, of course, empty.

"Oh," I reached out and took it. "Th-thanks."

She smiled at me, folding her hands behind her back. "Were you writing a song?" she asked politely.

"Um, a poem," I answered. "I mean, unless I can come up with a tune to go with it." I'd tried writing a song a few times before and hadn't had much success, but having Nami suggest it made it seem like it might be worth trying again.

"That'd be really cool," she said, still smiling. "I like music a lot. Especially classical music, but music with words is good too." She giggled lightly. "My brother says it's weird that I like classical music. Is it weird?"

I shook my head quickly. "Not at all. I think that's cool that you like it."

Her eyes lit up.

"Nami, hurry up!"

The blonde girl tilted her head, looking past me at a girl with short auburn hair. "Coming, Kai," she told her friend. "Good luck with your poem," she added to me, her eyes flicking back over to mine for the briefest of seconds before she was gone.

That was the last day Naminé Kisaragi came to school.

* * *

"Come on, Roxas, Zexion's waiting in the truck and your neighbors are starting to give him threatening glares. I think that old lady on the porch just muttered something along the lines of 'I'll beat that boy with my cane if he doesn't turn that ungodly music down.'"

I take the stairs two at a time, flinging my black jacket over my shoulders and yanking the hood down when it gets caught on my messy blond hair. "If Zex gets beaten to death by an old lady, which is sadly probable considering he's a weakling and Mrs. Hinata is stronger than she looks, it'll be your fault, not mine. I'm not the one with the broken car radio."

"Yeah, yeah, stupid lack of volume control. What can I say, my car hates me. You ready?"

I nod absently at the lanky redhead, who's clad merely in a charcoal grey T-shirt and jeans. I've gotten used to the oddity of Axel never wearing a jacket even in twenty degree weather like today. The guy must be like a walking furnace or something. But that's not what's on my mind as I brush past where he's standing in my front doorway out into the crisp December air. No, all I can think about is the fact that Panic! At The Disco is in town and in slightly less than two hours I'll be seeing them live for the first time. Last time they performed near Twilight Town I was out on Destiny Islands visiting my cousin, so Axel and Zexion went and saw them without me.

Before I reach the rust-red truck my ears are assaulted with the roar of Blink-182's  _All the Small Things._ At least it's a good song. I slide into the passenger seat next to Zexion, who gives me a nod, his steel-blue hair falling into his eyes as usual. Axel doesn't mind riding in the truck bed because, like I said, Walking Furnace, plus we don't trust him driving even his own truck.

"How's work?" I ask as Zexion pulls out from the curb, having to raise my voice to be heard over Axel's perpetually loud and unable-to-be-turned-off-without-a-hatchet radio.

"Good," he answers. "Dem's slacking as usual, but it would be ridiculous to hope for anything less." Zex and our friend Demyx work at the music store down the street from where I live. That's actually where I met Zexion. I went in there to browse for my first guitar and we bonded over our complete and utter agreement over anything and everything music.

"Working on anything new?" he asks. He means songs. Sometimes if a song I write comes out halfway decent, I let Zexion hear it, since he has an appreciation for that sort of thing. I shake my head.

"Nah. Guess I just haven't been inspired lately."

He nods and we lapse into a comfortable silence. Well, as silent as it can get with One Republic's  _Counting Stars_  now being blasted into our ears. I lean my head back on the headrest and gaze up at the Christmas lights adorning several of the shops and other buildings on the street. This is the first time this season I've really noticed them. There are lights in the cheery shape of a harp on the display window of Perfect Fifth, the music store where Zexion works. Along the narrow window sills of the old people center, blue-tinted icicle lights cast the building in a cold, fantastical glow. Movement in one of the windows attracts my eye and I catch a glimpse of a girl with light hair turning towards the window, perhaps wondering where all the noise is coming from. Her expression is somewhat forlorn and I can't help but muse that she looks like some tragic heroine painted by an artist that fancies themselves a deep thinker.

I'm startled out of my incredibly melodramatic thoughts by the horrible sound of Axel screeching, in what I can only assume is a miserably failed attempt to sing along with Ryan Tedder.

"For the love of all that is good in this world, make it stop," Zexion mutters.

I groan, roll down my window, and lean my head out, craning my neck around to shout at the offending redhead.

"Shut up, Axel, or next time we're at your house I'll ask Kairi about her love life."

The terrible noise stops short for a moment. "You wouldn't," Axel's voice floats up after a second, and I imagine his green eyes narrowed. "That'd be torture you'd have to endure, too."

Ha! He thinks I'm bluffing. "Try me. Even your sister's endless rants are better than your so-called 'singing'."

"I hate you."

"Love you, too."

The rest of the ride passes in relative silence (again, it's never really quiet in Axel's truck) and we arrive at the airlines center where the concert is being held. Nearly three hours of severely abusing my lungs in a crowd of people jumping around and doing the same, we're back in the old truck, me clutching my brand new black Panic! concert tour T-shirt to my chest like a baby. I may also be wearing one. Yes, I take my band merch seriously, thank you very much.

"After all those screaming fangirls, I don't know how much more abuse I can take from your truck, Axel," Zexion says, reluctantly turning the key in the ignition and thus unleashing a tidal wave of sound from the radio.

"Not gonna take that comment too seriously considering it's coming from one of said screaming fangirls," comes the answer from the truck bed, voice raised to be heard above the music.

"I do not scream," Zexion scoffs. "But if I did, it would be almost entirely justified. Brendon Urie's voice is godlike, I don't care what anyone says."

We both mumble our agreement as we pull out of the lot, all of us still slightly dazzled from the concert.

A little over half an hour later we're back in the Christmas-lit part of town I know so well. My eyes glance up to the window on the second story of the old people's home before I realize what I'm looking for-or who. And there she is, her face turned downward to something on her lap-a book, maybe? A strand of light hair falls down in front of her face as I watch and she doesn't bother pushing it back. Something about the short glimpse I got of her face causes a niggling tug in a corner of my mind. I frown. I feel like I'm struggling to grasp at the slippery strands of a dream moments after being ripped abruptly out of it and into the waking world, which by the way is one of the most frustratingly futile things ever, but I'm going all embarrassingly histrionic again. I do that on occasion. Perks of being a (sometimes) songwriter.

Anyway, when we get back to my place it's still bothering me. The silence brings me out of my stupor when Zexion shuts off the truck. He breathes a sigh of relief, leaning his head back on the headrest.

"Remind me again why we drove Axel's truck of all things."

"Because my dad's using my Audi, and you don't have a car," I answer, opening the passenger door and gracefully falling out of it.

"Mm. Right."

We shuffle into the house and Axel glances at the clock. "Kai's at some party or something, so she'll probably be calling me sometime to pick her up."

"Kay, well feel free to hang out here 'til then," I say, going into the kitchen and pulling out a few Dr. Peppers from the fridge. I wonder whose party Kairi's at. Since we're in the same grade in school, I know most of her friends and she knows mine. Then something clicks into place in my mind and I stop short in the entryway to the living room, a soda in one hand and two in the other. I know where I've seen that girl's face before.

Axel lifts his head from his place sprawled out on my sofa, eyebrow quirked upward. "Alright, Rox? You look like someone just smacked you in the face with a blunt object."

"Ax, do you remember Nami?"

He blinks. "Who?"

"Naminé. You know, the one who used to be like best friends with your sister back in elementary school?" I chuck a Dr. Pepper at his head and he yelps.

"Jerk," he mutters, rubbing his forehead. I toss the second soda towards Zexion, who for his part catches it smoothly without flinching from his place leaned against the wall. "But yeah, now that you mention it," Axel answers, "she was a little blonde thing, right? Didn't she die or something?"

"What? I don't think so," I say in slight alarm. "I thought she just changed schools."

"Oh, yeah, you're probably right."

"Do you know why she left? Did Kairi mention anything?"

He shakes his head. "No. Or I don't remember, anyway. Why're you asking about her?"

Now I feel kind of silly. "I, uh... I dunno, I was just remembering her for some reason."

Axel looks unsatisfied but just then my mom emerges from my parents' room, looking slightly tired but still composed and elegant as usual, even in her pajamas. Her pale, chopped blonde hair has not a strand out of place and she glances around the room with just a hint of anxiety in her dark brown eyes, so small that only someone who's grown accustomed to interpreting her barely-there expressions would notice.

"Roxas, your father should be home any minute now." Judging from the unease in her eyes, I'm guessing he was supposed to be home long before now. "I think it's time for your friends to head back to their own homes."

Axel pushes himself up off the sofa, Dr. Pepper in hand. "Right, Kairi should be calling any time now anyway. I'll see you later, Rox."

I nod. "See you."

Axel looks at Zexion expectantly, but the latter's blue eyes are directed towards me. I feel like he's reading something in my face, and I raise an eyebrow at him to show that I don't know what he's looking for, even though I think I might. His gaze shifts to my mom.

"If it's alright with you, I'm going to stay a bit longer," he says politely.

"How are you gonna get home?" Axel asks, his tone pointed so that what he's really saying is  _Dude, she just told us to get out of her house, don't argue._

"Walk, like I usually do," Zexion answers, not moving his eyes from my mom's. My mother's lips are pressed together, but after a moment or two she turns and goes back into the bedroom without a word.

"Suit yourself," Axel says, glancing warily at the door my mom just disappeared through before walking out the front door.

After a few moments the blare of the car radio seeps in through the walls of the house.

"You don't need to stay, you know," I mutter, staring at the wall. "My mom wants you to leave."

He doesn't say anything, and I know it was pointless to try to get him to change his mind. I'm pretty sure Zexion, Perceiver of All Things One Would Rather Keep Hidden, knows, or at least suspects, a lot more about my life than I even realize. I've never really had to tell that boy anything, he just knows somehow. He's never denied my claims that he's some twisted mind-reader version of Spiderman.

But I'm not sure what he hopes to accomplish by staying here, I mean, if my dad comes home drunk then he comes home drunk. He's not going to suddenly be on his best behavior because my friend is here. And we've already established the fact that there's no hope of Zexion beating anyone stronger than a chipmunk in a fight, and he knows it. He may be taller than me-barely, and Axel has us both beat by a mile-but I'm stronger.

Besides, my dad has been doing better lately, honestly he has, and he's kept his promise so far. I think of saying this to Zexion to persuade him to go home but that would mean admitting that I know why he won't leave me alone here without making sure I'm alright first. And it's not something I've ever talked about with anyone, not even him, my best friend.

I hear a door slam out front and a few moments later the front door opens, admitting my dad, dressed in his navy and white work clothes with his black hair slicked back as usual. My dad works for an electric company. I'm not exactly sure what it is he does all day, but whatever it is, it pays the bills. He's currently trying to get my mom a job at the same place.

He tosses his bag on the fireplace and looks up, glancing at Zexion before his eyes find me. He seems completely sober and muscles in my upper body that I hadn't even realized were tense relax. He greets me with a nod.

"Is your mom awake?"

I nod.

"Elena?" he calls, and after a few moments my mother reemerges.

"Oh, good, you're home," she says, no trace of her former anxiety hinted at in her face.

I catch Zexion's eye, who had been previously regarding my dad coldly. The hardness in his eyes vanishes when he sees me looking at him, and I jerk my head toward the front door.

"Think you can find your way home in the dark?" I tease lightly once we're on the front porch.

"I think I'll manage," he answers, shoving his hands in his pockets and shuffling out onto the path leading to the sidewalk. I wait until his form is down the street and out of sight, and then my legs move almost of their own accord, taking me down the same path I've taken many times to visit Zexion at work or to buy musical supplies. Only this time, they bring me to a stop before I reach Perfect Fifth, and I find myself standing across the street from the Twilight Town Assisted Living Center, or what I usually refer to in my head as the old people's home. The lights in most of the rooms are off, including in the window where I think the blonde girl's room is. I should have expected this since it's well past midnight now, but still I sigh in frustration. I need to know if it's her or not, to be able to sleep tonight if nothing else.

I'm just about to trudge back home, scolding myself for being stupid, when a light blinks to life on the second floor. I hold my breath as blonde hair comes into view, then a face. She leans her head against the glass, looking up towards the stars. It occurs to me that I've passed by this place many times, but not once have I looked up and noticed her. People rarely look up, I guess, but here we both are, doing just that.

She must not be able to sleep. The expression on her face makes me feel heavy, and if I had to name it, I would say she was...resigned. To what, I'm not sure.

Is it really Nami? It's hard to tell, but now that the idea's entered my mind, I can't shake it. I remember what Axel said about her being dead and shiver involuntarily, but I push that thought aside quickly. If it really is her, I have so many questions I don't even know where to begin.

I decide to head back home before I risk the chance of her looking down and seeing me.

Back in my room, I pull open my desk drawer, take out my worn green spiral notebook and a mechanical pencil, and sit on my pillow. I press the eraser end of the pencil to my lips until the lead pokes out through the tip.

_There's something to be said about the colors in your head_

_And how they mix to form the perfect shade of sadness_

* * *

I pull my shiny black guitar out from its case and lean against the wall of the diner, directly across the street from the old people's home, wondering what exactly possessed me to do this. All I know is it doesn't sit right with me that the girl is stuck in that place, day after day, for as many times as I've seen her the past few days, she seems to rarely leave her room. Then yesterday I got the bright idea to save up money to buy her a ticket to the Radiant Garden symphony orchestra, since I've heard they're one of the best in the world, and if it really is Nami, she has a fondness for classical music. Somehow I've never forgotten that.

The only problem is, ever since I graduated from high school last spring, all the money I make from my job at the shoe store-did I mention I work at a shoe store?-goes straight to my savings to rent myself an apartment and finally get out on my own. That goal is far too important to me to sacrifice any of my shoe store money. Yeah, I'm pretty selfish. But then I thought to myself, hey, self, why not make some money another way so that you can buy her symphony ticket without giving up any of your Roxas' Independence Fund? So here I am, with my guitar on the sidewalk, about to perform for total strangers in the hopes that they'll throw money at me.

Shut up, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

A gust of icy air slaps me in the face, making my cheeks and ears sting. I pluck a few notes to check how my tuning is-it's pretty good, considering the weather, but I adjust a few pegs anyway since I know the warmth of my hands and body will heat up the guitar as I play. I pick a song in my head and start to strum. When the verse comes my voice is a bit scratchy at first, but once I clear my throat and get going a bit, it gets better and I stop thinking about how I sound and just  _play_. That's when I realise people are actually listening.

A mother and her little boy have stopped on the sidewalk across the street, a girl a few years older than me is nodding to the beat as she window-shops, a couple just exiting the diner I'm standing in front of is lingering outside the door. This should make me nervous-I mean, I haven't played for anyone other than Zexion in a long time-but for some reason, it gives me confidence. I feel less like I'm being judged and more like I'm being... appreciated. It's a feeling I could get used to.

I play until I can smell the iron on my fingertips, and then come back again each night, and every once in a while someone will toss a bit of money into my guitar case. Sometimes I almost delude myself into thinking that maybe the girl in the window is listening, too-almost.

I keep coming even after I become disillusioned of my goal-I mean, there must be a  _reason_ she's always up there in that room, right? Maybe she's not allowed to leave. It now seems ridiculously unlikely that she'd even want the ticket if I got it. She doesn't even know me, and I'm not even sure it's Nami. Axel's probably right, she probably died years ago, and this is a completely different girl.

But still, after work every day, I come to the same spot outside the diner, across from the old people's home that is also home to one sad teenage girl, and perform. It's addictive. I feel more alive on that little section of sidewalk, out in the cold, than I have in a long time. And I'm surprised to find that the people who listen seem genuinely disappointed when I stop each night.

Christmas comes and goes without me taking much notice, except for the fact that I have the day off and Demyx calls to invite me to his Christmas party, which I tactfully decline. I believe my exact response is something along the lines of "I'd rather die, Dem, your friends creep me out."

The next day when I come into work, I can tell something is about to go horribly wrong, because my boss, a burly blond guy who insists I call him Mr. Highwind, seems uncomfortable. Now, for anyone who knows him, this is recognised as an Extremely Unusual Occurrence. The guy could walk into a My Little Pony convention and convince everyone there that he owns the place. So naturally, when I greet him with my usual "yo" and he nearly jumps out of his skin before giving me a half-hearted grimace, I'm worried.

While I try to shrug it off and get to work behind the cash register, he leans against a shelf of shoes, tapping his fingers idly against a shoebox containing a pair of women's red Chuck Taylors. He usually has a ton of work to do in the back rooms.

"Everything alright, Cid?" I ask after I finish checking out a customer and she's gone out the door.

"Mr. Highwind," he corrects automatically.

I restrain myself from rolling my eyes. "Right. Is something wrong, Mr. Highwind?"

He lets out a sigh, long and dejected. "Rox-in-a-box, we're going out of business."

I almost choke on my own spit.

"Or, as the big dogs up top call it, 'relocating,'" he goes on, clenching his hand in a fist. "But for everyone who works at this location, it means effectively the same thing."

"They're getting rid of this store?" I ask, angry.

He nods grimly. "Yep. Relocating out to Hollow Bastion, and hiring all new employees."

"When?"

He grits his teeth. "They called me yesterday-on  _Christmas_  of all days-saying they're gonna start packing us up next week."

I stare at him in disbelief.

He sighs again, glancing down. "I'd go ahead and start looking for a new job, squirt."

* * *

I leave work that evening with my head down and hands shoved in the pockets of my black jacket, kicking at stray rocks on the sidewalk. What am I supposed to do now? I really need that job if I'm ever gonna get out on my own. I shake my head, looking forward to grabbing my guitar, heading to the street and forgetting about this for a little while. I can worry about it in the morning.

The front door slams behind me as I enter my house and head to the kitchen to get a glass of water before I go back out. My dad pokes his head out of the fridge, looking a bit more bedraggled than usual, his dark hair falling out of its usual slicked-back tidiness.

"You bring me some milk?" he asks. I freeze. Something about the way he's speaking, how his words don't fit together right, feels sickeningly familiar.

"We're out of milk." He says despondently to the fridge, before turning on me. "Well?"

"I didn't bring any milk," I say slowly.

"Huh. What good're you, anyways." He stumbles past me into the living room and I wrinkle my nose as I catch a whiff of the alcohol on his breath. So much for doing better.

I follow him, my glass of water forgotten. "Where's mom?"

He lazily shrugs his shoulders. "Probably out with her girlfriends or somethin'... I dunno." He looks me over and seems to notice that I'm still wearing my jacket and shoes.

"Goin' somewhere?"

I nod cautiously. "Yeah, I was just gonna grab my guitar and go..." He follows my eyes which are looking at my guitar case leaned against the end of the sofa over by where he's standing.

"Whattaya need that for?" He mutters, reaching down and picking up the case. I clench my fists. Nobody handles my guitar but me.

"None of your business," I answer through gritted teeth.

His dark eyes flash dangerously and he regards me with a sneer. "Watch where do you go every night, anyway?"

I don't answer, my eyes flicking from my guitar case back to his face. I just want to grab my guitar and get out of here.

He opens up the case, fumbling a bit with the latches.

"What are you doing?" I ask frantically.

"Where do you go?" He repeats, ignoring me and pulling the guitar out of its case, holding it by the neck.

"I do street performing," I say quickly, wary of the look in his eyes. I take a step forward and reach for my guitar, afraid that he might drop it in his current state. He pulls it back out of my reach.

"Street performing?" He repeats mockingly. "What good is that doing you, huh?"

I can't possibly tell him I'm saving up money to buy a ticket to the symphony for a girl I saw through a window, or even that I'm doing it because for the first time in too long I feel like I'm really living, so I just shake my head, lunging at him to try and wrestle back my guitar. He pushes me down as if he were doing nothing more than swatting a fly. I glare up at him, making an effort not to cringe at the dull throb of pain in my chest. I won't give him the satisfaction.

"Street performing," he scoffs again. "What a foolish waste of time. You think that's gonna get you anywhere in life?" He's getting louder and louder as he talks. I don't think he even realises it.

He glances down at me lazily. "You don't need this," he drawls, dangling the guitar loosely in his fingers. "I'd be doing you a favour."

I swallow hard. "Don't you d-"

It's too late. I cringe at the sound of splitting wood as he slams my guitar against the wall, brandishing it like a baseball bat. He does it once more for good measure before he seems to get tired, slouching onto the sofa.

I'm shaking with the effort of keeping my fist at my side, instead of letting it smash into his face like it wants to. I close my eyes and try to take deep breaths. I can't be like my father. I can't sink to his level. It wouldn't end well for me, anyway.

My eyes still closed, I hear something that sounds suspiciously like a chuckle. I open my eyes, and sure enough, the drunkard is  _laughing_  at me. Suddenly I can't stand to be in the same room as him for even a second longer.

So I run. I'm out the door before I even make the conscious decision to move. Part of it is force of habit, I've gotten angry enough times in my life to know that running is the best way for me to let off steam. I keep running even after my legs grow tired and my side starts to burn with every breath. I don't slow down, not even thinking about where I'm going until I crash headlong into something solid, bringing it down with me as I hit the pavement.

Whatever it is, it groans and attempts to shove me off. "Woah, dude, are you running from the cops or-Roxas?"

I scramble back onto my feet, recognising dirty blond hair, blue-green eyes, and the slanted black script of a tattoo poking out from the sleeve of a green skate jacket. I try to brush myself off as casually as possible.

"Hey, Demyx, sorry about that, man."

He pulls himself to his feet and looks about ready to move on from the subject before he stops and narrows his eyes at me.

"You're  _not_ running from the cops, are you?"

I raise an eyebrow at him and am about to tell him that yes, they're right on my tail, before I remember who I'm talking to. Dem's not the best at sarcasm; he'd probably believe me and freak out. And I'm really not in the mood for any more drama tonight.

"No, Dem, I'm not," I say with a remarkable amount of patience, considering I'm still fuming and crashing into him really didn't help matters.

"Good," he says cheerfully, adjusting his headphones which had almost slid from his neck. "Were you coming for Zexion, then? I'm just about to relieve him from his shift. If he lets me, that is. He's always telling me I'm doing something wrong, when I'm not doing anything!"

"Maybe that's the problem," I say, wondering if he even remembers that he asked me a question at the beginning of all that.

He frowns in confusion. "What?"

I shake my head. "Never mind." But remembering about what he said about work, I look around. Turns out my mindless marathon brought me not too far from the entrance to Perfect Fifth. I'm not sure I wanna talk to Zexion right now, though.

But before I can get away, Demyx is already at the doors, leaning in and yelling. "Yo, Zex! Your knight in shining armour is here to rescue you from the heinous clutches of overworking...ness. Oh yeah, and I brought your bestie too."

Now that he's dragged me into this, I guess I have no escape. I reluctantly follow Demyx into the music store.

Have I mentioned Perfect Fifth is basically the most amazing place ever? Yeah, while I've been drowning in shoeboxes every day, Dem and Zex get to chill in this little alcove of heaven. Taking up a large portion of the wall space are actual vinyl records, which are nearly impossible to find for sale these days. There's a section dedicated to musical instruments, where you can buy and even try out anything from saxophones to horns to harps to guitars. The shelves are full of CDs, headphones, speakers, sheet music, basically anything musical, it's there.

But the most distinguishable feature of Perfect Fifth, at least from what I've seen in other music stores, is the Recommendations. There are pads of sticky-notes placed around the shop with the heading 'What's caught your ear lately?' and customers write down the latest song, album, or band they've been obsessing over recently. Some even write whole playlists of songs with headings like "Pump Up Workout Jams" or "Songs that Bring to Mind the Color Green." The people who shop here are pretty creative with their categorisations and have decently eclectic taste in music, so the Recommendations are always worth checking out.

Zexion is leaning against a cabinet behind the check-out counter, and even though his shop is spilling over with awesome, I do have to pity the guy for having to work with the lunatic currently attempting to climb over the countertop. He regards Demyx blankly.

"You're bleeding."

Demyx falls off the counter. "I am?" He surveys his body before staring in shock at his elbow-which, as it turns out, actually is bleeding, the sleeve of his jacket having ripped clean through. Oops. "Must've been when Roxas attacked me. Do we have Band-Aids?"

"Aren't you the one meant to be rescuing me?" Zexion muses. "Some knight in shining armour you are."

"Hey, we knights have to fend off dragons and stuff, I think making it here with just a little flesh wound is a pretty praise-worthy achievement," Demyx defends.

"So does that make Roxas your dragon?" Zexion smirks.

"Guess so, O damsel in distress."

Zexion glances at me and pushes off from the cabinet, heading for the door. "There might be some Band-Aids in the back, you wimp," he says to Demyx. "Check the drawers. And try not to hurt yourself while I'm gone."

"Aw, you do care," Demyx gushes.

Zexion pushes the door open and I follow him out, feeling like I'm moving on autopilot.

"I'm putting together a new playlist for the Recommendations," he says as we fall into step beneath the yellow-tinged light of the lamp posts. "Sounds of Insomnia. You know, the kind of songs you listen to when you can't get to sleep? Almost anything goes."

I know he's asking me to contribute a few songs to the list since we always work on the playlists together, so I nod and say, "'Kay." That'll give me something productive to do while I'm not sleeping tonight.

"You've been quiet," he observes.

"I'm not gonna have a job by next week," I say. "They're relocating, hiring all new staff."

He doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Is that why you attacked Demyx? Not that I'm sure he didn't deserve it, of course."

I snort. "I didn't  _attack_  him. I was running, and he was in my way."

"You were running? Don't you usually run in the mornings?"

I shrug, internally cursing him for over analysing every little thing. "Had to let off some steam."

He falls quiet for another moment, and I can almost hear him turning my words over in his mind, dissecting them and coming to a conclusion that's probably a lot closer to the truth than it really should be. "Are you following me to my house?" He accuses.

I glance sideways at him. Going home definitely does not appeal to me right now. "Yeah."

He nods and I get the impression that he wouldn't have let me go back to my own house anyway.

We come up to the old people's home and I force myself not to look up to the second floor. My eyes are drawn instead to the Christmas lights above the main doors, and I notice a piece of paper posted beneath them. In large, red print are two words.

NOW HIRING.

I stop in my tracks. Zexion takes a few more steps before realising I'm not following, then he turns to me questioningly. I don't look at him.

There's a tingling on the back of my neck, a restless urge to do something crazy. After all that's happened today, I feel like making a rash decision.

"Wait here."

* * *

This is a big mistake.

Why didn't I _think_  before marching in there and applying for the Aide job opening? And of course, rather than life giving me the slap in the face of rejection I needed to regain my common sense, I was hired on the spot and asked to come in the next afternoon. They must be really desperate for Aides. You know what Aides have to do? Care for old people. Old people with problems. Turns out I'm not a naturally caring person, which I already suspected, but it's become painfully evident by the time I reach my fourteenth room and I really can't understand what this old lady is asking me.

Now, before you call me an insensitive jerk, you have to understand that she is seriously mumbling. I don't think I ever fully comprehended what the word 'mumbling' meant until I met this lady. After about the sixth time asking "I'm sorry, what was that?" and having her repeat the exact same sequence of incoherent mutterings, I try to take a calming breath and think of what Riku said to do in a situation like this. Riku's one of the other Aides who talked me through what I have to do on the job and helped me with the first few rooms. He said if I'm not sure what they're asking of me, to "evaluate the situation" and try to figure out what it is they need. Easy for a guy like Riku to say, who was basically born for this and moves through the rooms like he's on a mission to save all these people's lives, his long silver hair flowing behind him like a cape.

He also said if that doesn't work that I should find a more experienced Aide or a nurse (or a caregiver or whatever it is they call them here) and ask for help. Well, Incoherently Mumbling Lady, it seems you leave me no choice.

After I've found Riku (who knew exactly what to do, of course) and moved on, it doesn't get much better. The reason I originally wanted this job was the crazy little hope in my head that it would be a way for me to meet The Girl Who Might Be Nami, but as I go from room to room that seems increasingly unlikely. I mean, it's obvious this is a place for  _old people_ , so whatever reason the girl has for being here, she's probably not a patient.

It's nearly nine o'clock when I finally make it to the last room in the wing I've been assigned, and when I see the room number next to the door-B70-I nearly collapse from relief. Soon all this will be over, and I can go home, sleep, and then start looking for a job that won't make me want to kill myself every six minutes or so.

Then I open the door, and nearly collapse for an entirely different reason.

It's her. Curled up in a little ball on a bed with her legs drawn up to her chest and her head resting on her knees, is the girl in the window. She doesn't seem to have noticed me enter, so I force my muscles to move and knock tentatively on the door I've just opened.

"Hey, Riku," she says into her legs. Her voice is soft, just like… Wait, did she say Riku?

"Uh, sorry, but it's not Riku today."

She looks up frantically as if she assumes that if I'm not Riku, then I must be some axe murderer come to kill her. My heartbeat picks up its tempo at the sight of her face, because not only are those clear, blue-grey eyes the same sad eyes of the girl in the window, I'm almost entirely positive they're  _her_  eyes.

Nami's.

And if that's not enough to floor me, the next words out of her mouth nearly do.

"No guitar tonight?"

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if anyone's still waiting for this chapter anymore, it's been so long... Really sorry about that, if you were waiting. I should never make promises. But anyway, on the off chance that anyone's still interested, here's Part 2!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Kingdom Hearts or any of its characters. Song lyrics adapted from Andrew Belle's All Those Pretty Lights.

It takes me a moment to regain the ability to say anything, and I pass that moment staring at my shoes, unable to meet her gaze anymore. "You've seen me?" I ask, scratching an imaginary itch on the back of my neck. I guess I had always liked to think that she had, but I never _really_ thought so.

She nods. I see it out of the tops of my eyes and I glance back up at her. I remember that she asked me a question. In my mind's ear I can hear the cringe-inducing sound of the wood of my guitar's body splitting against the wall.

"My dad smashed it," I hear myself say before I realise I had even intended to say it. I don't think I intended to at all. It just came out.

After a moment her eyes widen. "That's terrible!"

I don't want her to go and start feeling sorry for me. I shrug. I feel like I should give some explanation of why the boy whom she's apparently seen performing on the street outside her window is suddenly in her room.

"Anyway, that's why I'm here," I say. "If I can't do my music, I have to find some other way to make money, right?" I don't mention that it hadn't been my major source of income anyway and that I just lost my major source of income as well, or that the reason I wanted a supplement to my regular income in the first place was so that I could buy her a symphony ticket and that sometimes I daydreamed that she would even want me to take her to that symphony myself, in which case I would need two tickets. Yeah, I figured she didn't need to know all that.

"I guess," she says. I get the feeling that I've told her a bit more about my life than she cared to know anyway. I'm here to do a job, not to dump my life story on her while I get lost in her stormy grey-blue eyes. I need to stay on track.

"So, do you need anything, uh..." I almost say her name but stop myself. What if I'm wrong about who she is, or worse, what if I'm right? I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to know her name as an Aide.

She saves me, though, filling in where I left off. "Naminé."

Naminé.

The name ripples through my mind the way a pebble is plopped into a still pond. It's her. It's her. I knew it was her, but now I can't even try to deny it. I'm suddenly filled with so many questions that I don't even know where to begin.

"Naminé," I repeat. _Do you remember me, Naminé? Why did you leave school so suddenly, Naminé?_

"Do you need anything, Naminé?"

She bites her lip. "Is Riku gone?"

"Oh, no," I tell her quickly. Of course, she'd rather have the guy who knows what he's doing, the guy she's used to. "He's still here, but I'm assigned to this wing of the Center for a little while."

"Oh."

"Is there anything you need?" I try again. "I can try to help you, or if I can't I can find someone who can..." Probably Riku, seeing as she'd rather have him here in the first place.

She doesn't answer, instead looking down at her bedsheets. She heard me, right? A simple, 'No, you can leave' would do. Maybe she's trying to give me a hint.

"If not… then I'll just–"

"I'm your last stop, right?" she asks suddenly.

I blink and nod, wondering what she's getting at. "Your room is in the farthest corner of the wing."

She looks away and speaks in such a soft voice that I almost don't hear it. "Will you keep me company?"

I blink, caught off guard. After a moment she meets my gaze again, and there's a vulnerability in her eyes and her posture that was never there as a child. What happened to the little girl who was too self-assured, too aware of how much she was loved by everyone who knew her, to ever be shy? I smile at the uncertain girl in front of me.

"Of course." I take a seat on the edge of her sofa, expecting her to come over and join me so that we can talk more easily. She doesn't. "Are you gonna just stay way over there or are you gonna join me?" I ask lightly. This was her idea, after all.

Her cheeks color prettily and she won't look at me again. Did I embarrass her? What did I do? "I can't... I need help," she tells me in a small, strained voice.

She needs…? Oh. _Oh._ I suddenly remember where I am, and what the snazzy little badge on my chest means, and at the same time I become acutely aware that there is a wheelchair at the end of Nami's bed.

A wheelchair.

Because the only people who live here are people who need special care. And of course Naminé is no exception.

It's just... Well, just talking to her, she doesn't _seem_ like a patient. For one thing, she's my age.

I stand up from the sofa quickly, mortified, spewing out fumbled apologies.

She giggles softly and I relax a bit and smile tentatively, realising she's not terribly offended. I guess it would be a bit funny if it weren't me who'd just royally embarrassed myself. I pick her up without really thinking about what I'm doing, vaguely reasoning that it's easier than hassling with the wheelchair. But then her small, delicate body is curled up against my chest and she's stopped laughing and I can feel the heat rising to my face all the way down my neck and I wonder if this was really such a good idea. I set her down on the sofa as quickly as possible, take a seat a respectable distance away, and pretend I wasn't just blushing.

She carefully adjusts her legs so that they're curled next to her and I realise she must not be able to move them at all. Maybe she notices me staring because she looks up at me. "Weren't you wondering why a teenage girl would be living in an assisted living residence?"

I scratch the back of my neck sheepishly. "Yeah, I was. But I wasn't thinking just then... I don't know, when you invited me in it felt like just like hanging out with a friend or someone and I kind of forgot where I was."

Her smile is captivating. I resolve to make it her most common expression. "Thanks, Roxas," she says. Did I say something worth thanking me for? I don't remember now. Suddenly I really like my own name, though.

"If you don't mind my asking, why _is_ a teen girl living in an assisted living residence?"

"Car accident when I was nine. My spinal cord was badly injured and a nerve in my right shoulder snapped, paralysing me from the waist down and in my right arm. After a few failed surgeries in my arm the doctors weren't really sure what to do with me and I had no place else to go, so, here I am." She says it in a matter-of-fact, detached way, as if she were talking about someone else.

When she was nine. So that's what happened back then. Why did our teacher never tell us, acting as if nothing was wrong? Did Kairi know? Doesn't Nami have family she could stay with? She must not, if she lives here. I feel terrible for not knowing all this time, for not bothering to find out.

I ask her how she likes it here, since I can't bring myself to ask any of those questions.

"They're really good to me."

I raise an eyebrow. That's not an answer, and she changes the subject quickly.

"Why would your dad smash your guitar?"

Ah. I guess that's what I get for asking personal questions. I find myself telling her what I don't even want to talk about with my best friend. Maybe it's because I don't know her that well that I find it easier to say.

"He was drunk and in one of his angry moods and said something about my street performing being a foolish waste of time, then he just kind of flung it hard against the wall." Now I realise why she acted like her terrible story didn't affect her. It's easier that way.

"I'm so sorry," she says, sounding sincere.

I shrug. "It's not the worst thing that could've happened." I try not to think about what might've happened if I'd stuck around. But no, no, he wouldn't...he hasn't hit me–I mean, really hit me, more than just a shove–in a long time.

"So... do you go to school?" she asks, changing the subject. I gratefully follow her lead.

"No, I graduated high school last spring. Now I'm just... figuring out where to go from here, I guess."

She nods. "Was high school as drama-filled as it is in the movies?"

"You haven't been to high school?" I realise the potential insensitivity of that question a moment too late, but honestly I want to know the answer so I don't apologize.

She shakes her head, not seeming to mind. "Aeris–she's my caregiver–she offered to enroll me, but..." she shrugs, the movement only reaching her left shoulder. "I don't know, I thought it would be less of a hassle to just take classes online."

"Well, it's no High School Musical, if that's what you mean. There's a lot more work and a lot less singing and dancing."

She sighs theatrically. "I knew it was too good to be true."

I chuckle. "But yeah, I guess there is a lot of drama. Especially among the girls, but the guys get dragged into it a lot. My friends and I usually did our best to stay clear of it. Mostly I'm just glad I'm out of that place."

She looks puzzled and on the verge of concern. "You didn't like it?"

"It wasn't horrible, but no, I guess I couldn't really say that I liked it. People are stupid, a lot of the time."

She hums and nods, but I'm not sure if it's in agreement or just a way to respond.

"The songs you sing…" she starts after a moment. "Do you write some of them yourself?"

I nod, feeling a bit proud to be honest. "Yeah, it's a hobby of mine. Maybe someday it might be even more of a hobby," I say, though I'm not really sure myself how to get past the hobby stage. I haven't made much of an effort so far. "Who knows. I'm actually working on one right now. Or I was, before I lost my guitar. I guess I could keep going on it."

She nods emphatically. "You should."

Heh. I wonder if she would still say that if she knew the song was about her. More likely she'd report me or something.

We keep talking for a while until I notice her looking at the clock. Oh great. It's past the time when I'm still supposed to be here and she's noticed and doesn't want to be rude and I've overstayed my welcome oh great.

I jump up quickly and give some quick apology for not keeping track of the time and say I should go, but before I run out of there like the bumbling idiot I am, I make sure to help her back to her bed. I thank God I remembered that important detail and didn't just abandon her on the couch out of reach of her wheelchair and everything. Wouldn't that have been the crowning moment of the night.

I pick her up for the second time and put her back on her bed before I can get too used to the comfortable weight in my arms, then ruffle her hair a bit because suddenly I don't know what to do with my hands. "Have a good night, Naminé."

"You too," she answers with a soft smile. I turn to leave but before I'm out the door she calls, "And Roxas?"

I stop with my hand on the door and my head turned back towards her. "Hm?"

The fingers of her left hand are plucking at a hair tie on her right wrist and she looks away for a moment before her eyes are back on mine. "...Thanks."

Her timidly grateful expression is such a vast improvement from the resigned girl I saw in the window a few weeks ago that I can't help the small smile that tugs at my lips. "You too."

 

_And I remember we stayed up way past your bedtime_

_Up on the second floor_

_Inside your wooden door_

_Just innocent kids in a victimless crime_

_Trapped in a metaphor_

_Hoping for something more_

 

"What are you doing after work?"

Kairi smirks teasingly as she places the newly and impeccably folded stack of button-down shirts back on the table. "Are you asking me out?"

"You should be so lucky," I deadpan, leaning against a jewelry display table. "I need to talk to you."

"Uh-oh." She faces me with folded arms, narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips in suspicion. "What about? And don't lean on that, some of those necklaces are worth more than your life."

"Want to get something to eat somewhere?" I ask after glancing at the jewelry behind me and deciding I'm not doing it any harm. "I'll tell you when we get there."

"If you can give me a ride home," she says, tweaking the corner of one of the shirts even though there was nothing wrong with it to begin with. "Axel stole the truck, hopefully he's out getting his girlfriend declawed. Someone needs to."

I stare blankly at her for a few moments. I've met Axel's girlfriend a few times, and while she might not be the most approachable person, she seems alright to me. "Uh... yeah, sure, no problem."

A half hour later we're seated at a round little table in the corner of the nearest burger joint, Kairi sipping on a milkshake and me fiddling with the straw in my Dr. Pepper as we wait for our burgers. "So, what's your excuse for wanting to buy me lunch?" she asks.

I decide to just come right out with it. "Remember Nami?" I respond, watching her closely.

Ah. I've hit on something. Her posture stiffens visibly, but she tries to play it off, flipping her auburn hair over her shoulder and taking another long sip of her shake. "From elementary school? Yeah," she says casually.

"Did you ever know why she left?"

She shrugs. "They said she just transferred schools."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "And what do you say?"

"Why are you asking me?" she says evasively. "Why do you care, anyway? That was years ago."

"I'm asking you because you were her best friend. I didn't think you would have just relied on the information the teacher told us," I say, ignoring her second question.

She doesn't say anything, and our burgers arrive before the silence can stretch out too long. Immediately she takes a large bite out of hers, not meeting my eye.

"Anyway, I thought you would be interested to know that I'm working at the Assisted Living Center now," I say pointedly before I take a bite out of my own burger.

She nearly chokes on her too-large bite. I wait patiently as she swallows and looks at me with wide eyes. "Roxas–" she begins defensively.

"You knew," I cut in flatly.

Her expression is guarded. "Yeah, so? Like you said, we were best friends."

"Why didn't you tell the other kids what happened when we were all asking?"

"The administration didn't want anyone to talk about it at school. I guess they didn't want the kids to be sad, or something. I don't know." There's a hint of bitterness in her voice.

"That's just wrong," I say.

She shrugs, but I think she agrees with me.

"So do you visit her?" I press.

She opens her mouth, closes it, and then opens it again with a frown on her face. "I don't really want to talk about Nami."

"Well, I do. You don't visit her, do you?" From the way Naminé had talked, I had suspected she didn't usually get visitors.

Kairi glares at me. "I didn't completely abandon her after the accident, if that's what you're thinking. I visited her in the hospital all the time. My mom and I would go. But... after they moved her..." she trails off.

"To the Old People's Home? Why did they move her there, anyway?"

She sighs in frustration. "I can't believe you're making me talk about this. The doctors offered to take her to a care facility in Hollow Bastion that housed people her own age, but she didn't want to leave her hometown, so they settled her in our assisted living center."

I wonder why it was so important to Naminé that she stay here. As far as I know, she didn't have anything tying her down to this place, except...

Kairi won't meet my eyes again.

"It would have been too far for you to visit her very often in Hollow Bastion," I take a guess.

She nods slowly. "The first few months, I tried to visit her. But it was so hard, Roxas. You didn't see her. She'd lost her entire family to the accident, her mom and little brother, and as if that wasn't enough, her ability to move around too." Kairi wrings her hands in distress, but she still won't look at me. "Every time I would try to talk to her, she seemed to withdraw further into herself. I didn't know what to do, how to reach her."

"So you stopped visiting."

"We were just kids, Roxas," she finally meets my gaze, her eyes pleading for me to understand. "It was all too much for me to take."

"And you don't think it was too much for her to take?" I demand, my voice coming out louder than I intended. "You abandoned her when she probably needed you most!"

"You think I don't feel bad enough about it already without you making it worse?" she counters, raising her voice as well. We're receiving a few admonishing looks now from people seated at tables near us.

"She has no friends, Kai," I say in a quieter, flatter voice. The auburn-haired girl winces.

"She has you, now."

She does. I make up my mind right then that I will not abandon Naminé. "Yes," I agree. "But she should have her best friend." I notice she winces again at the last two words. "You should talk to her."

Immediately she shakes her head. "I can't."

"Why not? You're not a kid anymore. It may be late, but you can still be her friend."

She shakes her head even more vehemently. "You don't understand. I _can't_. Even if it weren't too late..." Her eyes are imploring me to understand something that she doesn't want to admit out loud.

And I think I do understand now. It never had anything to do with being a kid or not. Even now, trying to be there for someone who's in a situation the auburn-haired girl can't even begin to relate to or fix is too much for a girl like Kairi to handle.

She stands up suddenly, grabbing her handbag, her mostly-uneaten burger and fries still on the table. "Thanks for lunch," she says quickly. "I'll see you later, Roxas."

"I thought you needed a ride?"

"I'll walk. It's not too far," she says brusquely and turns to go. Before she takes a step, though, she seems to hesitate, turning her head back towards my direction. "You talked to her, right? Did she... mention me?" she asks in a small voice.

"No. She didn't."

She nods, slowly. "That's just as well. Good, even. That's good." She sounds like she's trying to convince herself. She adjusts the strap of her handbag on her shoulder.

"Take care of her, Roxas."

I nod even though she's facing away from me. "I will."

 

That afternoon at work, my second day on the job, seems to go more smoothly than the first. I don't know if I'm getting more patient or if the thought of seeing Naminé at the end of the day helps keep my mood up, but everything is a bit easier to handle. It also helps that I've only run into Riku twice so he hasn't been able to flaunt his superiority with his mere presence as much as yesterday.

"Hello," Naminé greets me with a bright smile when I make it to her room. I can feel my own spreading to mirror hers as I quickly make my way to sweep her up into my arms. She makes a little squeak and I ignore my racing heart as I deposit her on the same spot on her sofa as yesterday.

"Hi," I say once I've sat down too and sat sideways on the sofa, facing her.

"You're getting comfortable. What makes you think you're gonna stay a while, hm?" I think she's trying to smirk at me but she's struggling to keep it from blooming into an all-out grin.

I shrug cheekily. "I can just go, if you–"

She pouts and swats at me with her good hand, but she's too far away to reach me. "Shut up."

I laugh. "Do you need anything?"

She starts to shake her head but then she seems to remember something. "Oh, yeah!" She reaches down and rolls up one of the legs of her sweatpants, revealing a long scratch near her ankle, dried blood smeared up her leg and staining the bottom of her pants a bit. "Could you get me some kind of bandage?"

I raise my eyebrows. "Definitely."

"They're in the–"

"Medicine cabinet, over here, I know," I say, standing and going to the white cabinet on the wall. "Believe it or not, I actually was trained a bit for this."

Her face turns pink. "Of course, sorry."

"Just teasing," I assure her, finding the box of bandages and antibacterial cream and bringing them over to the sofa. "So how did this happen?" I ask, frowning as I choose one of the larger adhesive bandages and apply some cream to it.

She shrugs her left shoulder, her cheeks still tinted. "I don't actually know... Sometimes these things just pop up if I'm not careful. I only noticed because my pant leg got stained a bit. It might have been when I was trying to reach for something that was too far away..."

It's strange to me, seeing the painful-looking scratch and knowing she can't feel it at all. I hand her the bandage and she carefully smooths it onto her pale, thin leg.

"How was your Christmas?" she asks suddenly.

"Uneventful."

"Mm. Mine too."

I wonder if the old people's home does anything special for Christmas. They probably do something, but I doubt it would be anything that Naminé would really get excited about.

Then I'm wondering what Christmas was like for her before the accident. When she had her mother and brother with her. I bet it was special then. I wonder if remembering those times makes Christmas especially hard for her now. I know it would for me.

"Are you okay?"

I'm pulled out of my thoughts to see Nami looking at me in concern again. How ridiculous is that? I'm not the one that needs concern. I nod and change the subject.

 

The next day when I enter the front doors Riku sees me and jerks his head over to the assignment sheet on the wall.

"Something change?" I ask, walking up to it. He nods. On the chart I see that it says "East Wing" next to my name. Not where Naminé is at all.

"They switch us around every so often," Riku explains. "They haven't done it in a while, guess they thought it was time."

I head to the east wing, telling myself I'm not disappointed. I don't even think I fool Riku.

The next couple of days go by slowly, and I try to tell myself that this is just a job and I can't expect to enjoy every minute of work. I visit Zexion in the mornings at the shop. They've just got in a few new guitars. They're beautiful. Maybe if I keep working a little while longer I'll be able to afford one.

I haven't told Zexion what happened to my guitar. Just thinking about it makes me want to punch something. In the evening after work I feel exhausted and crappy and just want to go to sleep, but it's not coming easily. Ha. Perfect time to add to Zexion's playlist of insomnia-coping songs.

See, the songs I usually listen to when I can't sleep tend to be a bit on the depressing side. Nobody wants to listen to super peppy happy at 3 am. So of course the first song that pops into my head when I can't sleep is Sleep by My Chemical Romance, which even I have to admit is a bit too depressing for my situation, but I add it to the list anyway. Besides, Zexion likes that sort of music.

The tune I've been messing around with for the song I've been working on keeps worming its way into my head, and with it thoughts of Naminé. I don't know how I feel about this whole situation with her. I'm not even sure what the situation _is_. I mean, obviously I don't feel the same way about her that I did in the fourth grade. But the problem is, I think I might feel even more for her now.

I mean yeah, her situation sucks and I feel horrible knowing that the carefree little girl that I sort-of knew lost her family, was pretty much abandoned by her friends, and can't walk or even move all that well. No one should have to live with all that, but I don't think what I feel is entirely pity. Hanging out with her was genuinely fun. And she's beautiful, and sweet, and I keep remembering the way she felt in my arms, delicate as a bird and her embarrassed blush and yeah okay I'm still completely crushing on her, after like eight years. There it is. I admit it.

I want to do something nice for her. I want to be the reason she smiles, even if only for a little while.

I groan and stuff my face into my pillow, mentally hearing Axel teasing me about my sappiness. Who cares, I reply to my inner Axel, mentally sticking my tongue out at him. I tug my headphones over my ears and turn up my emo boy music up loud.

 

The next day as I go into work I glance over at the assignment sheet, subconsciously hoping that they've switched the wings again, even though I know it hasn't been nearly long enough for them to do that. And sure enough, there's my name right next to 'East Wing.'

I'm headed that way when someone calls my name. I turn around and raise an eyebrow when I see it's Riku.

"East is mine today. You've got West."

I frown. "But the–"

"That okay with you?" he asks calmly. I swear, everything this kid does is calm. I bet if I dropped a grenade in front of him he'd just glance at it and casually walk away, somehow sweeping every patient on the floor to safety in the process.

Anyway, I'm certainly not going to press the issue when it works out to my advantage, even if I don't know exactly what authority he has. More than I do, anyway.

"Yeah."

He nods and continues in the direction I had been going without a word, hands in his pockets. I watch him go for a moment, wondering if a nurse or someone told him to switch or if this was his own idea. But why would he decide to switch on his own? Does he think I'm not doing a good enough job in the East Wing?

I shrug it off and head back the way I came, my steps a bit lighter.

I rush through most of the rooms on the West Wing, the thought of seeing Naminé again making me more eager than it probably should. Every little request a patient makes suddenly becomes a huge inconvenience, but I try not to let my impatience show.

I'm practically jittery by the time I knock on Naminé's door. Man, what is wrong with me? She calls me in, sitting upright on her bed.

"Long time no see," I greet her. She smiles.

"Where've you been?"

"Miss me?" I ask, more cockily than I feel, betraying myself with a nervous hand through my hair.

She smirks. Dang. Playful is not a bad look on her. "Oh, I've been absolutely desolate." Her smirk grows into an all-out beam that almost knocks me out with its pure wattage.

"Something good happen while I was working in the other wing, or are you just that happy to see me?"

"I have a surprise for you," she tells me, her fingers tapping out a frantic rhythm on the side of her bed. She's almost humming with energy, seemingly fit to explode with the suspense.

Well, she's definitely caught my undivided attention. "Oh?"

She hums affirmatively and jerks her head toward the end of her bed. I hadn't noticed before but there's a large black case down there leaned up against the bed.

A guitar case.

Wait, what?

For a second I lose my head a bit and think she actually bought me a guitar, but then I remind myself that that's absurd and she must have just brought it here for me to play. Or more likely had someone else bring it here. Which is still incredible. And I still find myself almost subconsciously gravitating towards it until I'm kneeling in front of the thing.

I chance a glance up at her and she's so pleased with herself that I second guess myself. Wait… did she actually buy this for me? Like to keep? I have to know for sure before I drive myself crazy with hope.

"You…" My voice comes out embarrassingly hoarse and I try again. "You got me a guitar?"

When she nods I think I might faint. "Riku helped me do a bit of research, and I think this is a really good one."

I don't even know what to say. This is definitely the most ridiculous thing anyone's ever done for me. I wanted to buy her symphony tickets, and she went and bought me a _guitar_. "I… I don't...I can't accept this."

She laughs. _Laughs_. "Sure you can."

"You got me a _guitar_."

"Well, yeah." As if it's the most natural thing in the world. "But there's a catch."

Anything.

"What's that?"

That cute little playful smirk is back. "You can have this guitar, on the condition that you play me the song you've been working on."

Oh. _Oh_. The song I've been working on. The song that just happens to be about her.

Well, it's a small price to pay for what she's offering. Besides, she doesn't necessarily have to know it's about her, right?

I nod, feeling a smile begin to form. "The song's not quite finished, but it should be soon. If all goes well I'll play it for you tomorrow."

She bobs her head a little and I get the feeling that if she could she'd be bouncing in her seat. "Well, go on, take a look."

With pleasure. Almost reverently I set the case on the end of her bed and ease it open. There was no name on the outside of the case so I couldn't tell what model it was, but now I see that it's one of the very ones I had been admiring the other morning at Perfect Fifth. And that store carries only the very best of the best. It's crazy, but I'm almost choked up. Wait 'til Zexion sees this.

I sweep my hand just above the surface of the blue-and-black-stained body, reluctant to actually touch the polished wood just yet. Instead I run my fingers lightly over the strings, which answer me back in their soft tones. It's a moment before I can say anything at all, fighting past this stupid lump in my throat.

"She's beautiful."

 

I pull the guitar out onto my lap, fish my green spiral notebook out of my desk, and get to work finishing the song. I find song lyrics come much more easily if you embrace your inner cheesiness and don't worry about sounding lame.

_And so I sit back in my seat_

_I scribble down something that's sweet_

_About a boy, a girl, an endless stretch of scenery_

_'Cause it's like falling to your knees at a former stranger's feet_

_I did it just the other day, you should have seen me_

After I'm fairly satisfied with it, I read it over and realize there is slim to no chance that she won't realize that this is about her.

And I'm not sure I can deal with that.

I mean, it's possible, maybe even likely, that she can tell that I like her. I'm fairly sure that you could call what we've been doing flirting. But to sing her a song I wrote about her, a song that I told her I'd been working on before I'd even met her? That would freak anyone out.

So I rework the song a bit. Adjust the parts that are too obviously references to her and make it so it could really be about anyone. I'll keep the original of course, but I'll play my revised version for Naminé.

It might be cowardly, but at this point I don't care.

 

I take off from Perfect Fifth the next afternoon with a quickened beating in my chest, going home to grab my guitar before I head to work. I hope she likes the song. I hope I don't screw it up.

The front door is unlocked. My dad has New Year's Eve off from work so he's probably home. I'll have to try and slip in and out quietly so he doesn't see the guitar.

Uh-oh. I'm not off to a great start. I didn't expect him to be right there in the living room. But he's hunched down over something at the foot of the stairs, so maybe he won't notice-

I'm halfway to my bedroom when I realize what it is he's hunched over.

Or rather, who.

"Mom?"

My dad looks up instead, catching my gaze over his shoulder. His eyes are frightened. "Roxas, go get a bandage and some ice."

That stops me cold and for the first time I notice a thin line of blood traveling down from my mother's temple. "Wha–"

"Go!"

I hurry to the medicine cabinet, finding an assortment of bandages and grabbing the whole box, then to the freezer to get an ice pack. When I get back to the living room my dad has propped my mom up so she's sitting against the wall and he's muttering something under his breath. I'm not sure if he's talking to my mom or to himself.

"Dad?"

He sees me and grabs the box of bandages from my hand. "She'll be fine, it's only a minor head injury."

"What happened?" I ask quickly. "Is she awake?"

"She's awake, she's just a bit… confused."

"Confused?" I ask, voice rising.

"She'll be fine, she'll be fine…" My dad starts in a low voice as he bandages her wound, and I realize that must be what he was muttering to himself when I walked in. My mom joins in, but I can't make out what she's saying.

"We need to call the hospital," I say firmly. My dad shakes his head quickly.

"No hospital. No doctors."

"She needs a doctor. She must have a concussion, you don't know what kind of damage–"

_"No Doctors."_

I stare at him and realize he never answered my question about what happened. An uneasy, slick feeling slides down into my gut. I try to tell myself that it's ridiculous, impossible, and I don't even smell any alcohol on him, but there's a faint, bitter voice in my head that reminds me that it's happened before.

"Dad," I say, my voice cold and cutting. "What. Happened?"

He looks back up at me reproachfully, and I can tell he knows what's on my mind. "She fell down the stairs."

"She fell," I repeat, unimpressed.

"Roxas, calm down."

"I _am_ calm–"

"No, you're not, you're shaking."

I stare at my offending hands and shove them into my pockets. It does little good since the rest of me is still trembling. I want to call a doctor. I clutch my phone in my pocket, considering pulling it out and calling, but I'm scared. I hate the fact that I'm scared.

"She fell down the stairs," my dad repeats. "I came out of our room, and she was at the bottom of the stairs."

I want to believe him. I do. Maybe he's telling the truth. But then why won't he let her see a doctor? I hate that I even have to wonder.

I'm a bit relieved when my mom's eyes finally focus on something, which happens to be my dad's face since it's right in front of her. My dad asks her if she remembers what happened. She doesn't seem to. Convenient.

He leads her over to the couch and sits down with her, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, murmuring soothing words, and being an overall sweetheart. My mom seems to realize I'm there for the first time and I must have some crazy worried expression or something, because she looks me in the eye and says, "Don't look at me like that, you're scaring me. I'm alright."

"Roxas, go on ahead to work, we'll be fine here," my dad tells me.

I glance at the clock. I'm already late. "I don't think–"

"Just go on, I got her, don't worry so much."

I look at my mom. She gazes back, her face schooled back into its usual impassivity. "It's okay, Roxas."

I try to remember how to check for signs of concussion. There's something you're supposed to be able to tell by the person's eyes, but I can't remember what they're supposed to look like. All I can think about is how she doesn't remember how she hit her head.

She needs to see a doctor, but there's no way I can make that phone call from here.

"Alright," I say. "I'll just grab my stuff. Let me know if anything changes."

My dad waves me away dismissively and I head back to my room. I don't plan on actually going to work, but I did make a promise to Naminé that I intend to keep. I grab my revised lyrics out of the guitar case and glance over the changes.

Fairly confident I won't slip up and embarrass myself, I'm about to fold up the lyrics and put them in my pocket when something stuffed in the neck of the guitar case catches my eye. I pull it out, curious. It's black, and soft, and… it's a hat. A knitted cap. I blink at it.

Did Naminé… make this?

I stare at the cap and back at the gorgeous blue and black guitar. Then at the lyrics in my hand.

Naminé made me a hat. Somehow, with only one usable hand. She bought me a guitar. She didn't worry that I might think it was too forward and run off. She wanted to do something nice for me, so she did.

Naminé was brave.

Taking a deep breath, I crumple up the revised lyrics and toss them in the trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tbc.

**Author's Note:**

> Keep a lookout for Part 2. Hopefully it will be up soon-ish. In the meantime, review please :) I am deeply grateful to anyone who takes the time to leave a review and I do reply to all reviews.
> 
> Points to anyone who can tell who Roxas' dad is.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> Alice


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